


because you're mine (i walk the line)

by carmillacatstein



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 3x07, Angst, Comatose Lexa, F/F, Fix-It, Flashbacks, It's gross, also aden and clarke bond over their love for lexa, because 3x07 was a shit pile, but it ends happily don't worry, lots and lots of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmillacatstein/pseuds/carmillacatstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Titus shoots her, Lexa finds herself stuck in a coma for days. She can't wake up and her life flashes before her eyes, but with a skillful healer like Clarke at her side, she survives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	because you're mine (i walk the line)

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, here it is. I decided to use all my rage over this show to actually do some writing. This fic is borderline teen/mature but I rated it as mature just to be safe. There's violence but nothing too graphic at all. Also, Aden is adorable and Lexa's a fucking sap. Enjoy.

Lexa remembered the sting of the bullet in her gut and barely anything else. She remembered seeing Titus, her teacher and the man she almost considered a father, gasp in shock when he realized that he had missed his original target. She remembered Clarke - beautiful, resilient Clarke - attempt to catch her and carry her to the bed. She remembered whispered words, a plea from _her Clarke_ to not give up. Then her eyes closed and she was embraced by an immeasurable darkness.

She heard and saw nothing, not at first. She laid still, eyes closed, wound bleeding, unconscious. Until suddenly, she wasn’t.

At least, she felt like she wasn’t. Perhaps she was dreaming, maybe even dying. She wasn’t sure. All she could tell was that she was no longer bleeding out on Clarke’s bed, but instead she was thirteen years younger. Her body was no longer built and toned, but frail and scrawny. An intense blow smashed into her cheek, sending her stumbling backwards. The taste of blood coated her tongue as she dropped onto the ground, looking up at her assailant. It was Titus, slightly younger and not as worn down, lecturing her about distraction.

Her head was swirling from the impact and suddenly, the scene shifted. Three years passed in a matter of seconds, until she was old enough to hold her own in a fight. She was sparring with Costia, who shouldn’t even really be allowed to attend these training sessions, while the other nightbloods watched attentively. Titus and Anya looked on with contradicting expressions; the former with a grimace of disdain and the latter with a light hearted roll of the eyes. Costia looked gorgeous in the daylight, hair whipping around her face as she spun into another brutal strike, a playful smile on her lips. Lexa hesitated to block the swing, allowing Costia to get the advantage and knock her over. Lexa would feel embarrassed about letting her win if the cocky smirk on Costia’s face didn’t make it all worth it.

The ground tilted abruptly underneath her and her world shifted forward another three years, to when she was sixteen. Her hands, coated in thick black blood, trembled around her sword as those around her bowed for their new leader. She drew in a breath, hands shaking, and tilted her chin upward as she had been taught to do.

The laugh of a young boy, light hearted and innocent, pulled her forward another three years. Aden smiled up at her as she handed him his first sword and pride swelled in the pit of her stomach. But when Aden drew the blade from the sheath and the heavy weight wobbled in his young and inexperienced grip, her throat clenched and she felt like choking. He was so young, as she once had been. He deserved better than this. He deserved better than to spend his childhood training for a fate that could only ever end in death.

Her head spun as her vision became consumed in dark blood that dripped across her eyes while another three years flew by in the haze. War and loss had hardened her and Lexa crumpled to the floor in grief. She choked back a sob, clutching the last piece of Costia’s clothing she owned to her chest. _Love is weakness._ The words that had been echoed over and over to her throughout her life rang loudly in her ears, like the harsh clang of a bell at midnight. _To be Commander is to be alone. Feelings put those you love, and yourself, in danger._ Titus had been right. Love was weakness. Costia had been a weakness and as Commander, weakness could not be tolerated. She rose to her feet on shaking legs, with a fire in her eyes and determination to end this war once and for all.

Another three years flash forward and the peace she had worked so hard to maintain was shattered by the people who invaded her lands and burned her warriors. When their leader marched into her tent, demanding a negotiation of peace, all blonde hair and fierce attitude, Lexa realized how horrible she had been all along at hiding her weakness. When Lexa kissed her, when Lexa betrayed her, and when Lexa was forgiven by her, the leader of the sky, she realized she never stood a chance against her weakness for Clarke.

As abruptly as the flashbacks began, they were gone and she was once again consumed in blackness. It lingered and echoed, a hollow silence ringing in her ears. She waited and waited for someone or something else to appear, another gruesome memory she would rather not relive. But nothing came, not for a while.

She had no idea how long it had been like this. But when she heard Clarke’s desperate cries break the dark silence, she knew she had spent far too long in this abyss and it was time to claw her way out.

And yet, she couldn’t.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t make the slightest whimper to alert Clarke that she was okay. All she wanted to do was let Clarke know that she was going to be completely fine but she just _couldn’t._

Lexa couldn’t see her, as she was unable to pry her eyelids the slightest bit apart, but her other senses seemed to be working just perfectly. She could feel Clarke’s hand grasping hers, trembling and holding Lexa’s tightly. Her fingers were damp and sticky, and Lexa wondered whether it was from Clarke’s tears or if they were still coated in the blood Clarke had tried so hard to stop from seeping through her wound.

It was the sound of Clarke’s sobs that made Lexa’s heart clench. Her voice hiccuped around words and phrases that Lexa couldn’t interpret. She had been the cause of this much pain in Clarke before and the fact that she was again made the ache in her chest intensify.

Lexa listened to Clarke take a deep breath, a hollow rattle that cut through her cries. Lexa could picture her expression, the furrow in her eyebrow and the shine of lips.

“I need you to wake up.” Clarke whispered. Her voice scratched it’s way out of her throat roughly, sounding like sandpaper being dragged along concrete. “I just got you back. I can’t lose you again. Not yet.”

 _You won’t. You won’t lose me._ The words were on the tip of Lexa’s tongue but they remained unspoken.

“I thought we had more time.” Clarke’s thumb circled the skin on the back of Lexa’s still hand. “There has to be more time.” She says it almost to herself, a reassurance amidst a sea of hopelessness. “I know it’s only been a few hours. I know you may just need more time to heal, to rest. But I can’t do this without you.”

A few hours. That was how long it had been, yet it had felt like days.

Lexa heard Clarke sigh as she felt the bed she rested on shift slightly. The edge dipped and she felt Clarke’s head rest on her chest as Clarke leaned on her from the chair at Lexa’s bedside. Her hair was coarser than it typically was and her usual scent of charcoal and fresh air was cloaked by the scent of dirt, sweat, and blood.

“I need you to wake up, Lexa.” She felt the drip of Clarke’s tears on her chest through her thin shirt. “You can’t die. I won’t allow it. I won’t let you, not like this. Not when it was supposed to be me in this bed.”

Lexa wished she was conscious, just so she could laugh at her ridiculousness. If Clarke thought for even a second that she would let another person she cared about die for her, then Clarke didn’t understand her as well as she thought.

Clarke didn’t speak anymore after that. Her tears continued, slowly drifting until her exhaustion overcame her, and she fell asleep with her ear resting over Lexa’s shallow heartbeat.

Lexa listened to Clarke breathe for what felt like hours, fighting to keep her own breaths at the same healthy speed as Clarke’s. The only sound in the room was that shared blend of their heartbeats, Lexa’s lagging behind and struggling to keep up with Clarke’s.

The silence continued to linger until a door across the room creaked open. For a second, Lexa couldn’t possibly imagine who it could be. She could still feel Clarke resting against her and she hardly doubted Clarke would allow Titus anywhere near her. Then she heard the soft patter of small feet move toward her bed and realized who it was.

Clarke stirred from sleep and lifted her head from Lexa’s chest.

“Aden. You shouldn’t be here.” The bed shifted and Clarke stood, no doubt moving towards the young boy.

“I just wanted to see her.” His voice was small, smaller than normal, and there was nothing Lexa wanted more than to place her usual comforting hand on his shoulder.

Clarke sighed and after a moment of silence, Lexa felt the bed dip again, but under much less weight than when Clarke had rested there.

Aden didn’t speak right away. He didn’t touch her, didn’t move close to her. He simply sat there and Lexa could assume his eyes were brimming with the tears he had been taught were only a sign of weakness.

Lexa heard a shuffle, Clarke moving behind Aden, and the hiccup of a young boy’s tears.

“She used to tell me stories.” It was the first thing Aden had uttered since he sat next to her. “She wasn’t supposed to. Titus would scold her for it all the time. She was supposed to teach us how to be leaders, not dependent on others. But even after that, she continued to sneak into my room when I needed her.” He paused and Lexa felt small fingers nudge her own. “When I was first brought to Polis, I used to have nightmares. They were so bad that I wouldn’t let myself sleep because I was so afraid of having them. But she would always tell me stories, stories about our past Commanders and other great warriors, that would distract me enough to fall asleep. And I would sleep the whole night, without bad dreams.”

Aden’s hand was still hesitating by hers. She understood why. It was frowned upon for a Commander or a nightblood to have any close relationships, let alone with each other. But despite all that, there was nothing she wanted to do more than reach out for both Clarke and Aden’s hands to let them know that she was going to be okay.

“Do you think she can hear us?” When Aden asked, Lexa’s heart jumped from her chest.

_Yes. Yes, I can hear you. I’m here._

“Maybe.” Clarke’s suggestion was quiet, as if she wasn’t quite sure whether or not she could believe it. “Maybe she can.”

Aden’s hand finally enveloped hers and she felt a tear drip from his cheek onto their linked fingers. “I hope she doesn’t have any nightmares.”

Lexa heard Clarke shift forward again, another weight resting on the bed beside Aden. “Maybe you could tell her a story. You know, repay the favor? It must be pretty boring for her just to lay here all day.”

“I am sure you have been great company.” Lexa reveled at the playful lilt that had began to return to Aden’s voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clarke’s tone was playful. Lexa knew her well enough to recognize it. But Aden did not have that luxury and Lexa heard him gulp.

“I… I just meant that-” He hesitated as Clarke’s soft giggle filled the air and he sighed. “Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke.”

Lexa froze at the words and she could tell Clarke did as well. They were familiar. They were exactly similar to words she had uttered to Clarke months ago. Lexa hoped it gave Clarke reassurance, that even after Lexa is gone she will live on in one of her nightbloods.

They sat in silence for a moment before Aden sighed and began to speak. His voice was hushed, but loud enough for both Clarke and Lexa to listen to the story he began to tell. Lexa recognized it immediately. It was his favorite, the story he constantly asked her to retell over and over again. He had Lexa tell it so many times that he recited it word for word, as if it were coming from Lexa’s mouth herself.

It was her story, the story of the ruthless Heda Leksa: the great uniter, peace bringer. It was the story of a girl who gave her all and then lost everything. It was a the story of how the most powerful person on the ground fell in love with a lost piece of the sky. It was her story; it was her and Clarke’s story; and Lexa realized how beautiful her story sounded when it was focused on love instead of loss.

Soon enough, this pattern became routine: Clarke spent each day and night at Lexa’s bedside, while Aden came and joined them before he went to sleep. Sometimes they would sit in silence. Sometimes Aden would continue with his storytelling. Sometimes Clarke would draw Lexa, sometimes she would draw Aden, or anything else her mind could conjure.

And basing her estimation off of how many times Aden came to visit, this lasted for roughly four days. Four days without speaking, without eating or drinking. Despite being alive, it was hard for Clarke to care for an unresponsive body. There were a few moments where Lexa nearly gave up. Her head spun from the lack of nutrition and her vision was consumed in a blinding white light. But then she’d hear Clarke say something, or laugh, or feel the brush of Clarke’s fingertips, and the light flickered out almost as quickly as it appeared.

This went on for days, until one night Lexa finally woke up. It just happened. After trying over and over again, her eyelids blinked open just slightly. She squinted before prying them open just a bite more, only to be greeted by the candlelit darkness of Clarke’s bedroom. The window was open and a cool breeze drifted in from the night air. It was still dark out, most likely very early morning, and the dim light made it much easier for Lexa’s newly opened eyes to adjust easily.

Clarke was curled up on the chair next to her bed - Clarke’s bed - Lexa now realized. She had been shot in Clarke’s room and Clarke had been so concerned for her she wouldn’t even allow anyone to move her from her own bed. Lexa smiled, watching her sigh gently in her sleep. She didn’t want to wake her. She deserved the rest.

But unfortunately, days of not moving tended to leave its tolls on a person’s body. Lexa’s throat screamed in thirst as her dry lips cracked and stuck together. Her stomach felt hollow, as if it were eating its way out from her insides hungrily. The bandage on her wound was soggy and uncomfortable, though Clarke had done well at keeping it maintained. Lexa could tilt her head just enough to see a pitcher of water and a glass on her night stand, but she could hardly muster enough energy to lift her arm.

So she laid there, watching Clarke and waiting for her to wake. Hours passed and the room slowly began to fill with light as the sun rose over the city. The bright sun seeped through the window, illuminating Clarke in a golden haze. She practically glowed and if Lexa had still been unconscious, she would have confused her with an angel.

Clarke began to stir when the light hit her eyes at just the right angle. She shifted and rubbed her eyes without opening them, and Lexa couldn’t wait any longer.

Lexa’s voice was rough as she spoke for the first time in days. “I do hope you slept as well as I did.”

Clarke’s head whipped around at the sound and her jaw dropped as Lexa smiled up at her. Clarke blinked once, twice in shock before launching forward. Her arms encircled Lexa’s neck tightly as a sob clawed it’s way from her throat.

“You’re awake.” Clarke gasped against her ear before pulling back to look at her. She stroked a thumb along Lexa’s cheek, tracing the curve of her nose and over her chapped lips. “I was starting to think you’d given up on me.”

It hurt Lexa to speak, but she did anyway. “Never. I made a promise to you and I intend to keep it for as long as my life permits it,” She paused after every few words to breathe, “and long after that.”

Clarke’s eyes welled up before she leant forward, her lips hesitating only a moment before colliding with Lexa’s. They were soft and gentle, a stark contrast against Lexa’s shaking, chapped ones. But it felt nice, felt like every single reason Lexa had woken up for. Lexa’s throat was on fire and her head was pounding, but all of those needs came in second when it came to Clarke, and she was content enough to stay like this with her, until death attempts to pull them apart again.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways, follow me on tumblr @carmillacatstein if you wanna keep updated about my other works in progress


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